Chapter 4

For a second I forgot how to breathe, I stared at Soren, waiting for him to take the words back, he didn't. My father's death had never been something I questioned.

Eight years ago, I was told there was an accident, I had accepted it because I was young, because my mother had been shattered, because there had been nothing else to believe, now Soren stood in my father's study and was tearing that certainty apart with four words, “what happened to him?” Soren's eyes moved to the photograph in my hand, “your father was dying before the accident."

My forhead creased, “that doesn't make sense because my father wasn't sick,” Soren stepped closer, “you didn't know everything about his health,” I shook my head, “no, I would've known.” Soren's gaze held mine, “would you?” The question hurt more than it should have, I looked away.

My father had always been private, even when I was young, there had been parts of his life I wasn't allowed near, business meetings behind closed doors, phone calls he took outside, documents that disappeared whenever I entered his study and I'd never questioned it because he was my father and I trusted him, “what was wrong with him?” Soren didn't answer, my patience snapped, “you said he was dying, tell me what he had.”

I watched him as he mentioned the sickness, “cancer.” The word hit me so hard that I almost stepped backward. “He'd been diagnosed months before his death.” I shook my head harder, as if refusing the word could erase it, my father couldn't have had cancer, he had worked every day, he'd complained about meetings, argued with contractors, traveled for business and had come home exhausted and still asked about my day as I remembered his hands, his voice and the way he'd knocked twice on my bedroom door before coming in.

None of those memories had included sickness, none of them had prepared me for this, “you're lying.”

Soren didn't flinch, "why would I lie about that?” Soren walked toward the desk and picked up one of the papers scattered across the floor, “this is why I didn't want you searching through the old files,” he handed it to me, I looked down,  a medical report.

My father's name was printed across the top, my fingers went cold, I read the date, six months before his death, my eyes moved lower, diagnosis, treatment, prognosis. The words blurred, I blinked several times, but they didn't disappear, my throat tightened. I had been beside my father while he was dying, and I hadn't even known he was sick, “where did you get this?” Sorens closer, “it was in the original project records.”

My eyes remained steady on him, "why would his medical report be in a project file?” Soren's silence made my chest harden, “because his illness affected the project.” I stared at him “how?”

He watched me gently, “he stopped attending meetings and stopped signing documents and started transferring control of the development,” my eyes lifted, “to who?”

Soren said nothing, my stomach sank, “to your father?” a small nod, “so while my father was dying, your father took over his project.” The room seemed to tilt, I looked at the photograph again, June 14. and my father's handwriting.

"Ask Soren what happened that night."

My heart started beating faster, “what happened on June fourteenth?” Soren went completely still, whatever had happened that night, he remembered, “you know, then tell me”

He walked toward the window, the muscles in his jaw tightened as I waited. For once, I didn't push, his silence felt heavier than the words he'd already given me. Finally, he turned, “your father called my father that evening because he wanted the project back,” I frowned, “he was dying, why would he suddenly want it back?”

Soren's eyes met mine,  "because he discovered something, that the money was wrong.” My pulse quickened, “what money?”

“The development budget," he said.

My mind raced, “someone stole from the project?” Soren's eyes narrowed, “your father found payments that weren't supposed to exist,” the room seemed colder, “what kind of payments?” he let out a short breath, “payments made through companies that didn't officially exist, like shell companies” I stepped closer, “who owned them?” Soren waited before answering, “we never found out, my father tried but didn't” 

“And my father? I asked, Soren's expression shifted, “he found more than we did.” I stared at him, so my father had discovered something serious enough to make him take back control of a project he could barely manage while dying, “what happened after he found them?” Soren didn't answer, my chest began pounding “Soren,” I called out, then he answered, “your father was supposed to meet my father that night but didn't because he never made it.” I swallowed, “that's when he died.”

For eight years, I'd mourned my father as a man who had simply been unlucky, an accident, a terrible night and a life cut short, now Soren was telling me it hadn't been that simple, “what happened to the accident story, you said he wasn't murdered,”

I stared at him, Soren's gaze stayed on mine, “someone caused the accident and he wasn't killed directly,” my heart stopped, "what.” Soren's voice dropped again, “but someone made sure he wouldn't reach that meeting.” I couldn't speak anymore, the walls seemed to close in around me, someone had caused my father's accident, someone had wanted him gone.

My eyes burned, for years, I'd carried grief for a man I thought I'd lost to fate, now I had someone or something to blame, “Who?” I asked.

“I don't know," he replied.

A bitter laugh escaped me, not because anything was funny, but because I couldn't take those words anymore, “you don't know, but you know he was sick, you know he found suspicious payments, you know he was meeting your father and you know someone caused the accident.” Soren said nothing, “and you still don't know who did it?”

I stepped closer, anger finally overpowering the shock, “then why should I believe anything you're telling me?”

I stopped, that wasn't what I expected. “Then why tell me? because you're already involved,” Soren looked at me for a long moment, “I am.” I looked at Soren, “by hiding things?”

“By keeping you alive," he said.

The words silenced me, before I could respond, something crashed upstairs I flinched, Soren turned instantly, the anger disappeared from his face, his entire body went alert, “stay here.” He moved toward the door, this time, I didn't argue. I heard his footsteps disappear into the hallway, my heart pounded against my ribs, “Soren?” I moved toward the doorway, a shadow crossed the hall.

I stopped, It wasn't Soren, someone was running toward the back entrance. I reacted before I could think, I followed.

“Nyla!”

Soren's voice came from behind me, I reached the hallway just as the back door slammed shut, I pulled it open, cold air struck my face, the garden was empty but the gate was still swinging, someone had just escaped, Soren reached me seconds later, his hand closed around my arm, “what were you thinking?” I pulled free, "he was right there, and I told you I'm not going to sit around while everyone else keeps secrets from me." His eyes flashed, "this isn't a game.

I stared at him for once, Soren wasn't calm, his breathing was heavier and beneath his anger, I saw it. That realization unsettled me more than his anger, I looked toward the gate, “whoever was here knew about my father,” Soren's expression changed, he looked back into the house, “no.”

He walked inside, I followed, he stopped beside my father's desk, the medical report was still where I'd left it, but the photograph was gone. I searched the desk and didn't see it, “the photograph.” Soren looked at me, “It's gone.”

My fingers went numb, someone had been inside this room, someone had seen what we'd found and now they had taken the one thing connecting Soren to my father, I looked around frantically, then Soren's eyes stopped on the open drawer, I walked toward it. Inside was a small envelope, my name was written across the front, Nyla.

I knew it's my father's handwriting, I reached for it, Soren moved closer, “don't.” I looked at him, “why?”

His eyes locked with mine, “we don't know who left it and you don't know that.” I stared at the envelope, some part of me wanted to believe it was impossible, my father had been dead for eight years, he couldn't leave me anything now. But I knew his handwriting and knew it the same way I knew the sound of his footsteps, my fingers tight around the envelope, “I've spent eight years wanting answers.”

Soren didn't speak, “I'm not walking away now.” I opened it, their was only one sheet of paper inside, my hands trembled as I unfolded it, my eyes moved across the first line, and everything Soren had just told me suddenly became more frightening.

Nyla, if you're reading this, then Soren has finally told you about the accident.

Soren stepped closer, “what does it say?” I looked at him, then back at the letter. The next line made my stomach twist and I coud't trust him, I stopped breathing. My eyes moved lower, one final sentence waited beneath the warning,

"Soren knows who killed me."

The room went silent, I looked up at Soren, for the first time since I'd met him, I didn't know which frightened me more, the person who had been searching for my father's secrets or the man standing right in front of me.